Ghost of a Chance (Banshee Creek Book 2) (31 page)

 
"And I can handle my mom," he concluded.

 
"You keep saying that." She pushed the shirt off his arms. "But I've yet to see any evidence of it."
 

Oh, ye of little faith. He finally disentangled himself from the shirt, and she looked intently at his stomach, her face a mask of concern. He looked down. As far as he could tell, there was no damage. His so-called burn didn't even hurt.
 

Elizabeth clearly disagreed. She frowned and smeared noxious ointment on his skin. His muscles tensed as her fingers slid over the sensitive skin. The stuff smelled rancid, but her touch was pure heaven. Elizabeth's instinct for overdramatizing things could be annoying. This time, however, it was yielding real dividends.
 

He closed his eyes, trying to focus on her touch.

"Your track record so far," she continued, her fingers tracing his ribcage. The caress made the blood drain out of his brain, "does not inspire confidence."
 

"I'll take care of it," he murmured, having lost track of the conversation.
 

Couldn't she stop talking? He was trying to enjoy this.

"Really?" She paused her ministrations. "How?"
 

He sighed. He wasn't going to calm Elizabeth with platitudes. Smart people could be such pains in the ass sometimes. "I'm not sure yet," he admitted.

That made her laugh, a rich, throaty sound, and he couldn't help but smile. He'd missed her laugh.
 

She really wanted him to buy the house and get out of her life, didn't she? Time to clear up that he had no intention of doing that. Quite the contrary, he fully intended to have her, face down on his bed, legs tied and arms bound, her short skirt barely covering her ass, and begging for his touch.

Elizabeth needed to get used to that idea. And he knew just how to achieve that.

He took her chin in his hand, tilted her head up, and kissed her.

C
HAPTER
T
HIRTY
-F
IVE

T
HE
GREEN
mashed potatoes survived.

Unfortunately.

Elizabeth leaned back carefully on the folding chair and pondered how to camouflage the greenish lump on her plate. She'd tried spreading it around. Then she'd tried hiding it under a piece of meat. Finally she gave up.
 

The meal was lovely. The unseasonably warm weather was perfect for an outdoor lunch. They sat under a large oak tree, and the canopy of golden leaves glowed under the afternoon sun. Guests chattered animatedly, and various children played tag on the grass. Mrs. Franco had invited most of the town, and her family lunch had turned into a party. The party was a huge success.

But the potatoes were awful.

The kiss, however...the kiss she'd liked. A lot.

Gabe must have liked it too. He hadn't released her even when he'd noticed Zach standing by the patio doors, smirking.
 

Elizabeth's annoyance had turned into mortification when Mrs. Franco had walked in. Zach had dragged her out of the kitchen, laughing as he'd explained that he'd coughed several times and was beginning to wonder if he had to spray them with water to pull them apart. That was just an exaggeration, though. The kiss couldn't have lasted more than a few seconds. A minute at most.

But, wow, what a minute.

She probably would've sat there for a good while playing with the leftover potatoes and thinking about the kiss, but her musings were interrupted by a pint-sized tornado of adorability slamming into her chair. She recognized the curly black hair and faded Air and Space Museum T-shirt.
 

It was Holly's son, Ben.
 

"Whoa, Benny-boy, did you lose Mommy?"

The toddler's brown eyes focused intently on her sparkly necklace, but he didn't answer. She pulled the necklace out of his way and stuck it under her shirt with a practiced motion. She'd lost many necklaces to Ben's grabby hands.

Luckily, Holly was crossing the lawn, holding a plastic cup.
 

"Mommy's coming," Elizabeth reassured the toddler.
 

This earned her a frown. Mommy's presence was apparently not a good thing.

"Thanks." Holly's curly bob was a sweaty mess. "I swear I only looked away for a moment." She handed the toddler the cup. "Here, Benny, have your fish crackers."

The toddler lunged for the treat, and his mom sighed.

"I swear, he's an escape artist." A tired, but still mischievous, smile crossed her lips. "But he'd make a great ring bearer."

"Hush," Elizabeth hissed. "Don't even joke about that."
 

Holly laughed. "Oh, I'm not joking. Patricia put you in her wedding cake waiting list. She's really thrilled about getting to do a traditional white cake."

"Yes, she is," a familiar voice said. "Although, sadly, I don't really have a wedding cake waiting list."

Elizabeth turned and smiled a greeting at Patricia. Sure, the town baker's Benedict Arnold turn still stung, but Patricia seemed to be trying to make amends. She could let bygones be bygones.

"But if I did," Patricia continued, eyes twinkling, "I'd definitely make space for you."

Elizabeth glared. Apparently, leopards didn't change their spots.

But her friends just laughed.
 

Holly patted her on the shoulder. "We're just teasing you, silly."
 

She was about to say more, but Ben spotted something in the distance and sprinted toward it. The plastic cup fell to the ground.

His mom winced. "I think he's headed for those cupcakes that you brought, Patricia."

Patricia's eyes widened in dismay. "Oh no. That's a new recipe I'm test-tasting today." She ran to catch up with Ben.

Holly sighed. "Back to the parenting gig. Oh well, those thirty seconds of sitting felt good." She got up and retrieved the tub. "Let me know if I need to buy a toddler tux. And remember, my favorite color is green."
 

Elizabeth stared at her, confused. Holly giggled.

"You know, for my maid of honor dress." With that parting shot, she set off after her offspring.

Elizabeth was about to shout at her that she wouldn't be maid of anything, when Gabe maneuvered himself into the chair vacated by Holly.

Great, it would be a lot easier to maintain her composure if he were sitting several chairs away. But he'd planted himself directly next to her, the way a real boyfriend would.

Gabe Franco didn't play fair.
 

The table was huge, covered with white embroidered tablecloths and depleted serving dishes. Mrs. Franco had a full house and she sat happily at the end of the table, chatting with the tall, knockout blonde who Gabe's brother, Sebastian, had brought home. The family matriarch looked like she was assessing an unpromising heifer.
 

Sebastian was an actor in L.A, and lunch with him had been a bittersweet experience. He'd spent years in the same auditions circuit as Elizabeth and they'd developed an easygoing friendship. When she'd landed
Cannibal Clones,
he'd taken her to Venice Beach to celebrate. Unfortunately, she didn't do a lot of Venice Beach celebrating nowadays.

But she had other things to worry about now. They were squeezed tightly between Sebastian and one of Zach's girlfriends, and the tight fit allowed Gabe to wrap his arm around the back of her chair. Elizabeth tried to remain unaffected, but every time he moved, his hand brushed her shoulder lightly, sending shivers down her spine. And it didn't help that his thigh pressed into her when he leaned behind her to trade Dr. Seuss jokes with Sebastian. She held her breath at every "fox," "box," and "socks."

"Need some help with that?" Gabe whispered in her ear, sounding quite amused.
 

Elizabeth stared at her unfinished lunch.

"I'm all done with mine." He pointed at his empty plate, causing her to eye his dish with undisguised suspicion.

"How did you do that?" A wet nose pressed against her knee answered her question.
 

"Magic." He peeked under the tablecloth. "And I suspect the magic would like a second helping."

She stared at her plate. She tried to spread the potatoes around again, but it didn't help. Maybe if they weren't such a bright shade of green they wouldn't be so noticeable. She thought about poor Sato. Dogs shouldn't eat human food. It was bad for them. Everyone knew that.

The wet nose pushed insistently against her knee.
 

She sighed and pushed the plate toward Gabe.

"Good choice," he said.

He slid the plate onto his lap and then under the table, and she frowned as she felt him drop the plate onto the grass. She needed that plate back. She bent to reach for it, but jerked when she felt his fingers on the back of her calf, slowly moving up as he straightened. His hand lingered on an exquisitely sensitive spot on the side of her knee.
 

Her abdomen tightened. She should push his hand away. She really should.

But she didn't want to.

Beast.

Gabe leaned behind her chair and started chatting with Sebastian. He pressed down on her knee to steady himself, and her thighs opened involuntarily. Elizabeth bit the inside of her lip.
 

Evil, evil beast.

"Congratulations on the new movie," she heard Gabe say to his brother.

Sebastian described his new villain role in a big summer blockbuster. This was his big break and was a nice coup for the Banshee Creek High Drama Club, so she smiled and chatted semi-coherently about the business she'd left behind. She was a bit distracted, as Gabe's finger was tracing naughty circles on her thigh as she talked.

The conversation turned, as Hollywood talks often did, to money, and they commiserated about shrinking salaries, unreliable royalties, and uncertain investments. Sebastian was thinking of investing in a West Hollywood condo development.

"I guess you're not in buying a house in Banshee Creek then," she said to Sebastian.

Gabe's brother smiled. "I don't need one. I own a cabin near the lake. It's small, but it serves my needs." He left it at that. He was suspiciously quiet for an actor, a breed that was generally talkative and ebullient, usually about themselves.
 

 
"Yes," Gabe jumped in. "Close enough to please Mom, far enough for privacy, and small enough to avoid entanglements." He glanced meaningfully at the statuesque blond.
 

"But I hear you have to buy a place now," Sebastian replied. "And the lake is not an option for you."

"No, Mom won't fall for that twice. I have to buy near town. But I already have something picked out."

"Oh, I've heard about that house." Sebastian's smile broadened. "A lot."
 

He dug into his dessert without saying more, and Gabe and Elizabeth stared at him, waiting for him to expand his statement. Elizabeth had the feeling that people spent a lot of time waiting for Sebastian to elaborate.
 

"And you told Mom?" Gabe prompted.

"Yep," Sebastian answered with an apologetic look. "I didn't know you were planning to buy it."
 

"Spill it, Bastian. What did you tell her?"
 

Sebastian looked sheepish. "Remember that spy movie I made years ago?"

Gabe groaned. "The one with the orgy scene that freaked Mom out? The one where you put the drugs in the KGB officer's you-know-what?"

"Yes, that one." Sebastian looked around uncomfortably. "Well, that was the house."

"You're kidding."

"No. It was quite famous in the seventies. Before that crazy couple bought it."
 

"And you told Mom all about it?"
 

"What was I supposed to do? She kept asking me about my intentions regarding Ariel." He jerked his head toward the blonde girl. "I
had
to change the subject. Man, I hated that movie. The female lead got knocked up with triplets and we had to do re-shoots from the waist up."

"Sounds like you're in trouble," Elizabeth said, pointing her fork at Gabe.

"I told you, I can handle Mom."

Sebastian smiled, pushed his chair back, and went to get a second helping of fruit. He didn't say a word, but his body language clearly communicated the thought,
good luck with that.
She felt a twinge of envy.
Now
that
was real talent.

"You look doubtful," Gabe said to her.
 

"Face it, Gabe, you're going to have to give up on this house eventually. You'll have to start over." She took another sip of sangría. "And that means you're starting with my mom. Your family is already misunderstanding our relationship. After dessert, I'm outta here."

Gabe opened his mouth to reassure her. Well, probably to scold her. But Patricia took Sebastian's seat and started chatting about local commercial real estate. She answered warily. Patricia was a friend, but right now, Elizabeth was suspicious. Was she at the party as a family friend or as the town's baker-slash-wedding coordinator? And why was her friend asking about properties that could be converted into wedding venues? Was everyone wedding-obsessed?

She was, reluctantly, answering questions regarding commercial real estate values in Banshee Creek (abysmal) and Leesburg (to infinity and beyond!) when she felt Gabe's fingers tracing the edge of her panties lightly. She fought a shudder and concentrated on square footage.
 

Zach brought her dessert. She took the small plate from him, but her hand was unsteady and some the creamy
tres leches
syrup spilled onto her fingers. She was beginning to realize that Gabe's preferred pleasures had nothing to do with food.

Or did they?

She'd automatically grabbed a napkin to clean her finger, but now she put it down slowly. She wouldn't be doing any cleaning. Quite the opposite, in fact.

She slid her hand under the table.

After all, two could play this game.

The discussion moved on to restaurants, and Gabe was discussing profit margins animatedly when her wet, sticky finger touched his hand. She felt him jerk in response and smiled.